Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS: Kill Me Tomorrow
by Skitty-Kat
Summary: The latest adventure of Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS. An informationgathering mission in Minas Tirth provides unexpected results.
1. Let Me Live Tonight

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in  
  
Kill Me Tomorrow  
  
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Disclaimer: Legolas Greenleaf and associated characters belong to Tolkien (you know who he is. The one turning in his grave fast enough to power an entire town). James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. The title "Kill Me Tomorrow" comes from Othello, where Desdemona says "Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight".  
  
Author's Notes: This is actually a sequel to "Legolas Greenleaf: Agent of MESS", which I posted last year, though it can be read on its own. The basic concept is Legolas is an Elven secret agent in the style of Bond (and called "Greenleaf" for this reason). He works for MESS, or the Middle Earth Secret Service, which is headed by G, the mysterious lady Galadriel.  
  
To all those who read the original fic, this isn't the promised sequel, though that is on its way. I'm still writing it, and it's promising to be about twice as long as the original. Stick with it, I will finish it. It now has a title: "You Only Live Forever".  
  
Thank you to Julia, who beta'd this for me. She's very good at pointing out my typos, even if I do use words she's never heard of (she didn't know what "masochism" was, she's that sweet and innocent). Thanks, Ju!  
  
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Kill Me Tomorrow  
  
Even before he had entered the Thieves' Knot in the lower circles of Minas Tirith, Greenleaf could see that it wasn't a particularly pleasant inn. It wasn't that he was prejudging the place, or deciding beforehand what it would be like inside. It was more of an idea based on observation. Broken windows were, in his experience, generally a precursor of what was to be found within. And the fact that a man was hanging half in and half out of one window was an even bigger hint. After that, the clientele who had already been thrown out and were laid on the street were merely added detail. The noise from within -that of too many people enjoying themselves in all the wrong ways- was only expected.  
  
Hood up, Greenleaf entered the inn, losing himself in the apparent melee inside. He wore an ordinary, nondescript traveller's cloak, not wishing to draw attention. To this end he had also foregone his bow and arrows, keeping only his knife in case of trouble. To be recognised as an Elf would be contrary to what he was trying to achieve. But the press on men and women around allowed him to pass with sufficient anonymity, though a few cursory glances were thrown his way. No one was interested enough to risk it though; hooded strangers in pubs could be dangerous and besides, they had their own things to worry about. Greenleaf made his way to the bar unhindered.  
  
The barman slid up to meet him, setting down the glass that had been getting grimier with each wipe of the cloth. "What'll it be, stranger?" he asked. Short, quick and to the point. Greenleaf approved of that, even if he didn't like the man's hygiene.  
  
"House brew," he replied. That was enough to get you through in most inns. He placed one elbow on the bar top, avoiding the varying puddles of liquid, while the barman got his pint. Just along from him a woman, wearing interesting clothing, was trying to convince a man of her obvious assets. She was doing very well, as the man seemed to be appreciating her 'assets' rather thoroughly. Greenleaf turned away as the barman came up and set the pint before him.  
  
He had the money in his hand, but didn't give it to the man instantly. "I'm looking for Thom Nurnen," he said, keeping his voice low. It was a conscious effort for him to make his tone deeper and more like a man's. "I believe he's known as 'Knees'."  
  
The barman gave him a long searching look. "He's over there," he grunted eventually, "on his own at that table." He moved away.  
  
Greenleaf glanced casually around. The man whom the barman had indicated sat alone in a corner, a half drunk pint of some ale before him. The Elf picked up his own drink and went over. 'Knees' Nurnen looked up as the chair opposite him was pulled out and Greenleaf sat on it. There was a clink as he set down his pint.  
  
"Evening," he said, staring directly at the man. "A friend said I should come and see you."  
  
Knees' hand clasped the handle of his mug nervously. "About what?" he asked.  
  
Greenleaf looked around him, more for appearances than anything. He knew no one was listening. "What you saw."  
  
"I see a lot of things," Knees said. He wasn't giving anything away.  
  
"Something in particular." Greenleaf paused and examined the man. Knees was an unprepossessing character, looking normal enough but with a narrow-eyed shiftiness. His skin was greasy, and his hair lank and falling across his eyes. His left hand only had two fingers and a thumb. He was tall and powerfully built, apparent in the wide shoulders and broad forearms. But despite this he was nervous, afraid even. Greenleaf decided that it couldn't be because of him; if he was assumed to be a man as he was meant to then he didn't seem a physical threat -that he knew- appearing small and slight.  
  
"I'd need more of a guide than that," Knees commented, "and a little incentive, you know?"  
  
"Let me get to the point." Greenleaf pulled out a couple of coins and placed them on the table. "You were in the mountains."  
  
"I was," Knees responded, more keen to talk now, though he still seemed nervous. "Just doing a little something, you understand? But I heard something coming, you see, so I hid down among the rocks there. And then they came past."  
  
He paused for a moment and looked quizzically at his questioner. Either for dramatic emphasis or wanting more money, Greenleaf decided, probably both. He simply indicated for the man to continue.  
  
With a sigh, Knees did. "Great ugly orcs," he said, "running past. Loads of them. Hideous bastards."  
  
"How many?" Greenleaf asked. "Describe them for me."  
  
"It was dark, I couldn't see much," Knees defended, "but there had to be at least one hundred though. They looked bigger than your normal orcs as well. Massive buggers they was. Oh, and they had a white hand or something painted on them."  
  
"Are you sure it was a hundred?" Greenleaf leaned a little forward. "This is important."  
  
"About that." The man glanced around again. He seemed to be getting twitchier. "I don't count so good, but that's what it seemed to me. Is that all you want to know?" He fidgeted with his mug.  
  
"One more thing. Where were they heading?" Greenleaf asked.  
  
"Into Mordor," Knees whispered, and his eyes rolled slightly, "I heard the Black Gate open."  
  
Greenleaf gave him a long stare, and knew that he was telling the truth. "That's all," he said. The information was useful. It proved that the surviving Uruk Hai from Isengard had gone to join the orcs in Mordor. Not all of them had been killed when Greenleaf, with a little help from some friends, had flooded the stronghold. The Middle Earth Secret Service (MESS) wanted to keep an eye on orc activity, and that was why Greenleaf had been sent out to Minas Tirith, the closest city to the area controlled by Sauron. He had his contacts -none of whom knew exactly who or what he was- and his contacts also had contacts. He was in the act of taking out some money when an odd sound made him look up.  
  
Knees Nurnen still sat opposite him, but with an addition. A quarrel of the type fired by crossbows protruded from his throat. The man gave a stifled gasp, and slumped slowly to the tabletop. Noticing that the angle of the quarrel indicated that the shot had been fired from behind him, Greenleaf turned quickly, only to be faced with the crossbow itself, reloaded and aimed directly at his face. His hand went instantly to his knife, but he stopped as the point of the quarrel pressed into his forehead.  
  
"Place your hands on the table," the holder of the crossbow instructed, "slowly, mind."  
  
Greenleaf complied. He wasn't suicidal enough to try anything in that position. He could see at least three more men behind the crossbow-wielder, and the way they stood effectively shielded the corner from the view of others, even supposing anyone was looking. One man pulled Greenleaf's knife from the sheath on the Elf's belt, tucking it into his own. Another pushed Knees' body under the table, casually picking up the coins from the table as he did. He lifted Greenleaf's untouched pint, sniffed at it, and then downed it in one long swallow. The Elf ignored him, attention still on the first man.  
  
"Stand up," the man ordered," easy now. We want to talk to you, so we're going upstairs for a little privacy, savvy? And you're not going to make any fuss. You don't want to make a scene of this, do you?"  
  
Scowling, Greenleaf did as he was told. It was true that he didn't want a scene; what he was there for was rather cloaked in secrecy, even more so than these men probably thought. It would be nigh on impossible to fight his way through the crowded inn. And besides, he was suddenly very interested in what the men wanted. They couldn't be concerned with the movement of Uruk Hai into Mordor. There was obviously something else going on and Greenleaf decided, on the spur of the moment, to look into it.  
  
Not that he was willing to be dragged off by a gang of men, but he didn't really have a choice. The burlier two of the men took his arms, one on each side, and pulled him with them. No one else in the inn took any notice, maybe not even realising the existence of the drama playing out in the dark corner. Greenleaf glanced across at the barman, who watched them for a moment then turned away. So he had been in on it somewhere, probably telling the men.  
  
The stairs were narrow, and Greenleaf was crushed between the two well- built men. The bald-headed man with the crossbow followed behind, occasionally prodding the Elf in the back. Greenleaf's feet barely touched the steps as he was pulled up. He was hustled in no short order into one of the upstairs rooms, whereupon the door was shut and bolted. It was a small room, the only contents being a bed, a wooden chair and a small chest of drawers. Greenleaf was thrust unceremoniously onto the chair and held there firmly.  
  
There was the inevitable gasp as his hood was thrown back and his face revealed.  
  
The man with the crossbow, who Greenleaf had decided to dub 'Baldy' for obvious reasons, spoke first. "What's a mighty Elf like yourself doing here?" he asked. He put his crossbow down on the bed and stood directly before the Elf.  
  
"My own business," Greenleaf replied. It was probably the wrong answer to give in his present position, but no man made demands of him. He wouldn't tell them why he was there -that was MESS business- and he was aiming for antagonising them enough so they told him what they were doing. It was obviously something illegal that they wanted kept secret, if their current actions were anything to go on. They thought he was interfering, which he hadn't actually been. But, due to their reactions, he was now.  
  
"Your 'business' seems to be trying to cut in on ours," Baldy said, "so try another answer."  
  
Strongman One (the man on Greenleaf's right) tightened his grip on the Elf's shoulder. Not to be outdone, Strongman Two (on the left) did the same. They were uncomfortably strong, though Greenleaf didn't particularly rate their intelligences, not even combined. He stayed silent, figuring out ways instead to catch his questioner out.  
  
Baldy, angered by the lack of response, resorted to physical violence, as Greenleaf had found out was often the way with men. He slammed his fist into the Elf's stomach. Funny, Greenleaf thought, through the pain, they usually go for the face. Oh well, probably later.  
  
"What were you talking to Knees about?" Baldy demanded. "The barman said you came in and asked about him, and then went and sat with him. And then money changed hands. We haven't been trusting him for a while, hence why we killed him. But who are you? And what was all that about?"  
  
"What do you think it was about?" Greenleaf asked. He raised an eyebrow, knowing full well how infuriating it could be. It was a trick he had picked up from G. She had developed her facial expressions so well that she barely needed to say a word.  
  
"Don't get clever with me, Elf!" Baldy spat. He smacked the Elf across the mouth, to nobody's surprise.  
  
"Oh well," Greenleaf said, through the blood that now dripped from his lip, "I can be a tad forgetful sometimes. Suppose you'd enlighten me on what I'm supposed to be remembering?" His face appeared ignorant, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye. He was playing a dangerous game, that he knew, but he had played worse in the past, and got results from them.  
  
"You expect us to tell you?" Baldy laughed, unpleasantly of course. "What do you think we are, stupid?"  
  
"In a word?" Greenleaf asked, grinning. "Yes. Particularly these two." He nodded towards Strongmen One and Two. They looked confused for a moment, then realised that he had insulted them and decided accordingly.  
  
"Can we hit him?" Strongman One asked, grip tightening in anticipation.  
  
"I don't see why not," Baldy said, glaring at the Elf, "he doesn't seem inclined to answer any questions at the moment."  
  
That was all the encouragement that they needed. Although stupid, they possessed some skill -or at least blind viciousness- in beating others. Greenleaf knew that he would have some splendid bruises later, though no broken bones as of yet. The two men were holding back, he was sure. He wasn't defending himself -not that it would have been easy to, they still held his arms tightly- but he knew that the blows could have been much harder. The fourth man, who hadn't spoken yet, stood just behind Baldy, fiddling with Greenleaf's knife. He wore a ridiculous-looking red cap, somewhat too large for him.  
  
"Can I have a go?" he asked, an unwholesome light in his eye. His tongue touched the corner of his lips.  
  
"Not just yet," Baldy told him, "maybe later." He watched the two men beating Greenleaf for a little while longer. The Elf was dizzy, the repeated pounding affecting him. "That'll be enough for now, lads," the man said.  
  
The two men stopped, albeit reluctantly, and hauled Greenleaf back upright in the chair. Blood ran now from his mouth and his nose, and bruises were forming darkly on his skin. He feigned worse injuries than he had sustained, slumping against the grips on his arms. He arranged his face into a pathetic expression.  
  
"What did he tell you?" Baldy demanded. He shook the Elf's head by grabbing his hair and tugging violently.  
  
"E-everything," Greenleaf stammered. His head fell forward as Baldy released his hair and stepped back.  
  
"Everything?" Strongman One said, sounding worried. "Even the weapons?"  
  
"And the Wildmen?" Strongman Two added.  
  
Greenleaf smiled. Got you, you bastards, he thought. So that's your game.  
  
"Fools!" Baldy shouted. "Couldn't you see he was bluffing? You idiots!" He threw his hands into the air in irritation.  
  
The two men looked at each other, confused again. Greenleaf decided to take the opportunity. He pushed up from the chair, kicking first one then the other man in the groin. Both folded in the middle and fell to the floor. Greenleaf moved forwards, but was pulled up short by the abrupt pain as he moved, catching him rather by surprise. He staggered a little, lights filling his vision. Baldy and Red Cap charged him together, giving the Elf no chance. They knocked him to the floor, Baldy landing on top and holding him down. Red Cap, grinning horribly, pressed a knife to his throat. Greenleaf realised with irritation that it was his own knife, and spent a few moments wishing that he didn't keep it so sharp. Strongmen One and Two, having recovered from those rather low blows, came over and helped pin the Elf down. Baldy was still straddling him, but he sat back on Greenleaf's legs, his weight heavy on the slender Elf. He looked rather angry, to say the least.  
  
"That was a very big mistake," he hissed, bald head gleaming with sweat, "and one you're going to pay for."  
  
Greenleaf suddenly realised properly what a bad situation he was in. Before, he had been confident of his superiority to the four men, but he saw now that he had been a bit premature in this. The four men were currently looking very murderous. He should have taken everything into account, like the men's strength and suchlike. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was paying for it now. Each pain from the beating he felt with a savage glee, and sort of masochism, reminding him of how stupid he had been. It was good for him every now and then, in his opinion, in order that he should remain a little humble at least. It stopped him acting like the stupid, reckless, idiotic, absolute prince that he'd just been! He almost deserved whatever these men had planned. Almost.  
  
"Do you know why he was called Knees?" Baldy suddenly asked.  
  
"Should I be interested?" Greenleaf said in reply. He was pretending to be completely calm, and the fear he felt didn't enter his voice.  
  
"I'll say you should," Baldy answered, "as it'll concern you very soon." He chuckled. "You see, he was given the name 'Knees' because he had a nasty little habit. If he didn't like someone enough then he had an unpleasant way of showing it. You fond of your kneecaps?" He leered nastily. Greenleaf feigned disinterest as best he could with a knife at his throat, but inwardly he felt rather sick. Baldy continued, enjoying every moment. "Ever wondered what it'd be like without them? You'd be forced to crawl, unable to walk. I know, because I've seen it. Of course, Knees was the expert, but as he's dead we'll just have to improvise. I'm sure my friend here wouldn't mind taking a stab at it." He indicated above Greenleaf's head, to Red Cap.  
  
Greenleaf looked up into a pair of some of the worst eyes he had seen. Alone, they would be mildly disconcerting, but coupled with the malicious smile and eagerness to cause pain they were deeply unsettling. Oh great, Greenleaf thought, one of those. One of the sick bastards in this world who enjoy this sort of thing. Why do I always seem to attract them?  
  
"You bet I will, boss," Red Cap sniggered, "a stab at it, hee."  
  
Psychopath definitely, Greenleaf judged, but no finesse.  
  
He decided, quite logically, that he didn't want to be kneecapped, thank you very much. Having his kneecaps prised off by a deranged man, and probably using his own knife as well, would be rather humiliating (a mere man!), not to mention being a hindrance in his line of work. Of course, to prevent this he would actually need to do something in opposition to the men. And to do that he needed them to be distracted. The best opportunity would be when they moved.  
  
That opportunity soon presented itself. Red Cap stood, removing the knife from the Elf's neck. Baldy moved too, his weight lifting. That was all Greenleaf needed. He rammed his knee into the man's groin, noting with satisfaction the crunching sound and the yell of agony from the man. He knew well how much pain could be caused in that area, and he used that knowledge ruthlessly. He kicked the man again, sending him sprawling to the floor. Following through, Greenleaf caught Red Cap in the face with his foot, knocking the nasty little man back with a surprised yelp. Strongmen One and Two were a little slow on the uptake, but they held the Elf's arms down tightly still. Their grips seemed impossibly strong, but Greenleaf didn't waste time trying to break out of them. He was stronger than most men, but they seemed to be an exception.  
  
His legs were still above his head, and he swung them round, using his shoulders as a pivot, and connected his feet with Strongman Two's throat. It was a bit like kicking iron, but the man fell back with a grunt anyway. Greenleaf wrenched his arm up, sitting up in the same movement. His fingers found Strongman One's eyes, jabbing fiercely. The man cursed and hit at the Elf's hand, releasing the other arm in the process. A well-placed fist sent the man backwards.  
  
Greenleaf pushed himself up to his knees, and almost missed Red Cap's lunge at him. A quick duck on his part meant that the knife still in the man's hand missed, but the forward momentum sent the man crashing into the Elf, knocking him to the floor. Greenleaf, lying on his back, grabbed Red Cap's wrist, holding the knife -his own knife- away from him. They struggled, but Greenleaf wanted to end to end it quickly, wanting to dispatch the man before any of the others joined in again. Arching up, he headbutted Red Cap solidly in the forehead. The man was stunned, and slumped to the side. Greenleaf pushed him off, taking his knife back and giving him a rap on the side of the head with the hilt for good measure. He stood up.  
  
And then was sent stumbling by a punch from Strongman Two. Wasting no time, Greenleaf whipped round with an answering fist, colliding with the man's nose. Blood flew, but he remained upright and able. Greenleaf could see in his peripheral vision that Strongman One was also on his feet and heading his way. One thing that the Elf had over the two men was speed, and he used this now. He hit Two in the forehead, spinning almost instantly to kick One in the stomach, drawing a gasp. But it took more than that to knock down these two, and Greenleaf knew it. He moved constantly, never giving them a stationary target. When they finally worked out that it would work better if they worked together, Greenleaf was ready for them. As Two lunged for his legs while the Elf was facing One Greenleaf leapt, landing as heavily as he could on the man's back. This put him at a better height to crack one over the head with his knife hilt, doing it again as the man fell, just to make sure. Two received the same treatment. This left Greenleaf with one more opponent: the one who seemed to be the leader of this little lot.  
  
The man had drawn his own knife, a fairly cheap, flashy affair. He and the Elf circled, holding their knives ready for the other to move. Greenleaf smiled, happier now he had successfully dispatched three of them. He let Baldy see this, allowing the man to see how good he was feeling, and hopefully make him think that the Elf was relaxed. But underneath he was prepared, mentally daring the man to make his move. It didn't take long; Baldy seemed to snap under the tension.  
  
He lunged at Greenleaf, teeth bared in a snarl. The Elf easily side-stepped the attack, allowing the man's speed to carry him straight past. But despite not being the brightest coin in the purse, Baldy was not without some intelligence. He turned quickly, hoping to catch his opponent off guard. Greenleaf was better than that. He was round the other way in an instant. His knife rose to parry while his other hand was a fist, catching the man hard in the stomach. As Baldy gasped from that blow Greenleaf whacked him across the knee with his foot, feeling the kneecap jerk out of place. He smiled grimly, figuring that he was due some payback for what they had been willing to do to him.  
  
He grabbed Baldy's arm as the man was about to fall to the floor. The knife was sent flying from his suddenly weak hand, skidding into a corner of the room. With a knock on the head to keep him stunned, Greenleaf proceeded to work out some of his frustration on the man. It was only fair. After all, they'd been going to maim and probably kill him, so a little resentment was surely allowed. And it made the interrogation all the easier. Having reduced Baldy to a near-unconscious pile on the floor, Greenleaf hauled him back up by the shirtfront.  
  
"So," he said conversationally, "weapons and Wildmen. Or Wildmen and weapons, what you will. Tell me about them."  
  
"What if I don't want to?" the man asked, a lot less comfortable now he wasn't asking the questions, but still belligerent.  
  
"Not an option," Greenleaf told him, "unless you enjoy severe pain. Some people do, you know. Would you like to find out?"  
  
Baldy took one look at the Elf's cold eyes and almost wet himself. "No, no! I'll talk! We were providing weapons for the Wildmen of the Drúadan Forest. We got the weapons up this end and got them to the edge of the mountains, where they'd get picked up."  
  
"That's too big an operation for you to organise," Greenleaf said. "Who tells you what to do? Who's your boss?"  
  
"D-don't know." The man squawked as Greenleaf's grip tightened. "It's true, I promise! We just get orders on paper, sealed, every week."  
  
"What's the seal?"  
  
"Don't know. Wait! It's a whatchamacallit, an eye! On red wax. That's all I know. I swear!"  
  
Greenleaf was satisfied that the man had told him everything. Coldly, he pinched a nerve on Baldy's neck. The man was unconscious before he'd even realised what had happened. Greenleaf dropped him rather contemptuously to the floor, leaving him in a heap. He pondered for a moment the idea of exiting through the window, but then noticed that it was barred closed. And even as he turned to the door, he heard a loud knocking on the other side of it. Someone must have heard the commotion of the fight.  
  
"Are you all right in there, boys?" questioned the voice of the barman.  
  
Greenleaf stayed silent, even when muffled curses were followed with the sound of a heavy body hitting the door. Let the barman break open the door, Greenleaf reasoned. It would take him too long to search out the key from the men's pockets. The door shuddered in its frame, splintering a little at the lock.  
  
He stood to the right of the door, against the wall. As the door finally broke and the barman fell inwards with the momentum, he slipped past the man and out into the corridor. At which point he met three more men who had followed the barman upstairs. Not wishing to waste time, Greenleaf knocked them all down in moments, using surprise to his advantage. As the last one's head connected with the wall the Elf was past them and leaping down the stairs, the barman shouting behind him. He knew he would have to fight his way through the inn now, but there wasn't really another option. He didn't know another way out, and it would take too long to find one. He would just have to do his best. And looking at the rather angry crowd of people, Greenleaf reflected that his best had better be pretty damn good. It normally was.  
  
He paused on the stairs for a moment, surveying the scene. The door stood partially open in the wall directly opposite. The bar was along the left hand side, and along it were gathered most of the pub's occupants. More sat at the tables to the right. Each man seemed to have a weapon in his hand, and even the women looked threatening. Greenleaf needed a plan, and luckily he had one. Sort of.  
  
Oh well, he sighed to himself, I never claimed to be an ambassador for my people.  
  
He jumped the remaining steps to land lightly on the floorboards. His knife was in his right hand as he grabbed a girl from the edge of the crowd with his left, pulling her against him and touching the knife to her neck very gently. She trembled, and Greenleaf thought just for an instance of how much of a cliché villain he must look. He had a sudden urge to laugh but forced himself to remain stern. This bluff had to work, or he would end up dead.  
  
"Back away, all of you," he instructed, adding something of a worried edge to his voice so they would think that he was desperate enough to actually use the knife. "That includes you behind me," he added, hearing the barman's laughable attempt to creep down the stairs. "Put all your weapons down. I just want to get out of here without too much of a fuss, got it?"  
  
Everyone in the inn got it, except one. But that was always the way, wasn't it? The one was a young man, impulsive and angry-looking.  
  
"Unhand her, foul creature," he declared, "you shall not harm her, else I shall run you through with my sure blade."  
  
The blade in question was an old and rusty knife, quivering in the man's grasp. It looked like it would have had trouble cutting through dead grass, let alone deterring an Elf. Greenleaf was just composing a suitably scathing reply when the girl saved him the bother.  
  
"Don't, Dar," she pleaded, "he'll kill me, I know he will! Just let him through, please!"  
  
Her plea worked like magic, parting the inn's occupants like grasses in a breeze. Greenleaf at last had a clear path to the door and he didn't hesitate in taking it. Pulling his hostage with him, he arranged his face into the most evil expression he could muster without laughing out loud. All the inn's customers watched him warily as he went, but none made a move, either through fear of getting the girl hurt or just disinterest. Again Greenleaf reflected on the damage he was doing to the reputation of his people, but dismissed it. These people already had those sorts of ideas about Elves, so it wasn't as if he was starting them off.  
  
He left the Thieves' Knot through the open door, pulling it mostly shut behind him with his foot. He released the girl and sheathed his knife at his waist. He walked away, expecting her to go straight back inside. But she surprised even him.  
  
"Here," she said, in a rather pointed tone, "aren't you going to ravage me or something?"  
  
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "I wasn't planning on it," he replied, "I'm no barbarian, you know." He grinned wickedly. "But I'm sure your young man in there would be more than willing." He laughed, and kissed the corner of her mouth cheekily. "Thank you," he said, and vanished into the shadows.  
  
She stood there for a moment, then sighed and went back into the inn, no doubt ready to tell a terrifying tale of her daring escape from the horrifying and lascivious Elf that had taken her hostage. It would probably earn her a few drinks at least.  
  
Greenleaf watched her go and then went on his way. He would inform the Gondorian authorities of the weapons smugglers and they could dismantle this end of the operation. But to stop the whole thing would mean going to the head of the problem, the one whose seal was an eye on red wax: Sauron. There was more work to be done before that particular fish could be hooked and drawn in. Greenleaf had places to go and people to see before anyone could contemplate a mission into Mordor.  
  
But he would see Sauron brought down, or die in the process.  
  
The End, for now.  
  
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	2. Some Vermin Deserve To Be Exterminated

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in  
  
Kill Me Tomorrow  
  
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which is why I am posting it on this site. Legolas and associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien. James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, this wasn't planned when I first wrote this fic. It was going to be one chapter. But then Nemo Returning just had to make that comment, didn't you, and look where it led. I don't know if they have roaches in Middle-earth, but I think vermin covers the sentiment nicely. We don't have them here either, though we do have charity workers with clipboards who want your bank details and spread out along one road so you get asked four or five times! Sorry, a little carried away there.  
  
Anyway, enjoy this. A little unexpected bonus for you all for being such nice readers and reviewing (well, some of you anyway).  
  
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Chapter 2. Some Vermin Deserve To Be Exterminated  
  
The nearest Gondorian guardhouse was some way from the Thieves' Knot. What they can't see won't trouble them, Greenleaf supposed as he covered the distance rapidly. There were few people on the streets at that time; it was too late for any decent people and to early for the landlords to be calling time. Greenleaf, cloaked and hooded, walked with a purposeful stride and was unbothered by any denizens of the night, not that any would be foolish enough to try anything. Despite his skill at fitting in, there was something different about him that set him apart from the men and women. It was nothing that an observer could put a finger to, and in consequence was left alone.  
  
Two soldiers stood outside the guardhouse in full armour. They seemed, at first, to be giving full attention to the task of guarding the door, but as Greenleaf got closer he could see that it wasn't quite like that.  
  
"I spy," one of them muttered slowly, "with my little eye, something beginning with, um, beginning with W."  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
"Window?" the other said.  
  
"No."  
  
"Uh...water?"  
  
"No. Give up yet?"  
  
"No. Um...um...oh, go on then."  
  
"Wall."  
  
There was a snort. "Damn, you got me with that one again! Third time tonight an' all."  
  
Greenleaf rolled his eyes and stepped out in front of them. The sudden appearance of a stranger before them was enough to turn the pair into model soldiers.  
  
"Who-goes-there?" one demanded, obviously reciting a script learnt long ago. "Friend-or-foe?"  
  
"Friend, I hope," responded Greenleaf. "I need to see your captain."  
  
"Are-you-armed?"  
  
"Yes, thank you very much." Greenleaf smiled.  
  
That seemed to throw them, though the second guard recovered fairly fast. "Oh," he said, "a comedian, is it? You'll have to remove your hood, sir."  
  
"Very well," said Greenleaf, and pushed it back. He could almost hear the pair thinking, half-expecting steam to rise from under their helmets.  
  
"Uh, you'd better go in then," one said. He still seemed rather confused by the sudden deviation in script. You just didn't get Elves in Minas Tirith.  
  
"Oh, and by the way," said Greenleaf, stopping just as he was about to go inside. "Has anyone ever been caught out by the 'friend or foe' question?"  
  
"You'd be surprised, sir," came the answer.  
  
Greenleaf laughed politely. He walked into the guardhouse, satisfied that the two were more than capable of watching the door, if not the people who went through it. Inside it was rather dark and there was a definite smell of smoke. Greenleaf traced the source of it to a man, seated at a desk in the corner. There was a pipe in his mouth and white smoke swirling in the air around him. He eyed the Elf, chin on his hand, and said nothing.  
  
"Are you the captain of this guardhouse?" asked Greenleaf, standing in front of the man.  
  
"I am," the man replied. "What are you doing here? We seldom have your kind here in the white city."  
  
"My business in my own. But I know of certain...information that concerns you at the very least."  
  
The captain sucked at his pipe then exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing with his hand.  
  
Greenleaf gave a discreet cough and continued. "There are arms smugglers within your city. They have been involved with smuggling weapons to the Wildmen of the Drúadan Forest. It seems there are different groups for different parts of the route, starting here."  
  
"And where's here, exactly?" the captain asked. He was clearly interested. "Somewhere in Minas Tirith?"  
  
"Their base of operations is an inn," said Greenleaf, "called the Thieves' Knot."  
  
"Ah," said the captain knowledgeably, "the Thieves' Knot. What was a nice person like you doing in there?"  
  
Greenleaf realised that he was being both underestimated and patronised. Irritably, he leaned forwards, placing his hands on the desk and letting the man see the bruise that he knew full well was purpling on his cheek. He narrowed his eyes and left any softness out of his voice.  
  
"Like I have said," he told the captain, "my business is my own. You would do well not to underestimate me, or indeed any other Elf you might meet. Do you want to know more about this or not?"  
  
"Of course," the captain replied, after a brief pause in which he recomposed himself, "do go on. Can we get hold of these smugglers?"  
  
"I met four of them," said Greenleaf, "and left them unconscious in one of the upstairs rooms of the inn. The barman may have moved them, being as he seemed to be in on it, but probably not far if he did. I doubt they expect me to inform the authorities."  
  
"Good, good," said the captain," well done." He stood up behind his desk. "I'll send some men off to deal with it forthwith."  
  
Greenleaf raised an eyebrow. "You're doing it again," he warned. "Don't you think I should come along and tell you who they are?"  
  
"Oh, of course, of course," the captain blustered, "just my little joke, heh heh." He coughed a little. "Captain Welch, sir, at your service."  
  
"Glad to make your acquaintance," said Greenleaf, with more than a little irony, which the man didn't pick up on.  
  
The captain went to the foot of the stairs. "Wilson!" he yelled. "I want you and six men down here on the double! Hup hup! Quick now!"  
  
There was the sound of feet on the floorboards of the room above, along with the sound of raised voices. With a noise either like thunder or a troll with indigestion, seven fully armoured men came charging down the stairs to stand in the downstairs room. The wooden steps creaked protestingly at their weight. Greenleaf looked them over in his usual fashion. At first glance they were perfectly in order, the perfect image of soldiers loyal to the defence of their city. But then Greenleaf saw the more human aspects: the hastily extinguished cigarette tucked behind the ear, the odd bits of vegetable stuck to the sword, the armour that had been bashed back into shape many times. He smiled. He never trusted a soldier who looked to smart; they generally weren't any good. Too much time spent on looking good and not enough on being good.  
  
"Right then, lads," Captain Welch addressed them, "we have information courtesy of this here gentleman, er, Elf, I mean, concerning some of the less salubrious members of our society. There's been some weapons smuggling going on round here, and apparently they're holed up in the Thieves' Knot. We're going to go and get them out. Any questions?"  
  
"Me mam doesn't like me goin' into pubs, sir," one piped up. He wore a scarf round his neck. "She says they're, um, places of disrep...disrepu...disreputatation."  
  
"I don't care, Pike," the captain said, "you'll have to faced the places someday, get to know the evils of drink and so forth."  
  
"But..." protested Pike.  
  
Captain Welch cut him off. "You're a guard, you take none of that from anyone, apart from me. Is that clear?"  
  
They all nodded. "Good. Let's go then, shall we?" He motioned for them to go ahead. "Smartly, now, that's my boys."  
  
The six men and their sergeant marched out of the door. Greenleaf followed behind them with the captain.  
  
"They're a good bunch of lads really," explained Welch, "but when there ain't a war on you don't tend to get the more intelligent ones joining up, y'know? There's only a certain number of men who actually think the uniform'll impress girls."  
  
"Why do you do it then?" asked Greenleaf, genuinely curious.  
  
"I used to think the armour was impressive," admitted Welch, smiling sheepishly, "luckily, so did my wife. And, well, someone's got to do it. It's a vocation, you know." The captain held himself taller, pride evident in his face.  
  
Greenleaf nodded. He could understand that. He had been working for the Secret Service for longer than he wanted to count, and that too was a vocation. It needed doing, and he knew that he was one of the best at it, no bother with false modesty. He could no more do anything else than he would elope with a Dwarf. He couldn't help but smile at that image.  
  
"So, um," said Welch, "if you don't mind me asking, why were you in the Thieves' Knot?"  
  
"Business," replied Greenleaf, not unkindly, "and you really don't want to ask. Suffice it to say that it was nothing illegal. I was talking to a man called Knees when the four gents turned up. They seemed rather eager to talk about another topic, and I had to oblige."  
  
"Oh, we know Knees all right," said Welch, "regular customer of our cells. What happened to him?"  
  
"They killed him. Shot him through the throat with a crossbow."  
  
"So it's murder as well then," commented Welch calmly.  
  
"And concealment of the body." Greenleaf grinned. "If we're totalling up charges, one of them stole my pint as well. Not that I was going to drink it, but it's the principle that matters."  
  
"Heinous crimes," said Welch, "for which they shall be most severely punished, you may be assured."  
  
"My faith in justice is renewed," said Greenleaf, "I thank you kindly." They both laughed.  
  
"Ah, here we are." Welch strode to the front. "Right, lads. This inn is simply full of people who led good, honest, apparently law-abidin' lives, but who have sadly fallen into the fate of drinking. I want you all to go in there and remind them that it's rather late and that they should be toddling off home to their beds, or someone's bed at least. Bear in mind that drink is a corrupter of minds and these poor disillusioned types may try to resist, but you will remain firm in the execution of your duty. Got that?"  
  
"Yes, sir," came the muttered response.  
  
"What will you do?" asked Welch.  
  
"Remain firm in the execution of our duty," they mumbled in chorus, all faintly embarrassed.  
  
"Correct!" said Welch. "That, and don't let the barman leave. Just clear the bar of customers. Go to it, my lads!" He turned to Greenleaf as the guards marched in. "We'll just wait for them to clear it before we wander in," he said.  
  
Greenleaf nodded. They didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes people started leaving the pub. Some still held their drinks; obviously unwilling to leave behind something they'd paid for. There were several complaints voiced, but the presence of the armed soldiers kept them to mutters. Greenleaf saw the girl he had used as a hostage earlier, now firmly ensconced in the arms of her young man. He grinned as she noticed and pointedly ignored him. The flow of people gradually lessened until they had all gone.  
  
"Right," said Welch, "let's go then."  
  
He sauntered towards the door, Greenleaf beside him. The door was open and they went straight in. The six soldiers and their sergeant stood inside. The barman was between two of them, cloth still in his hand. He glared at Greenleaf.  
  
"Well done, lads," said Welch, "that's the way to do it." He frowned suddenly. "Private Godfrey, you put that pint down now!" he snapped.  
  
Behind him, one of the older soldiers replaced an almost full glass back onto a table with a guilty look.  
  
"Now," continued Welch conversationally, "I believe you have been harbouring some weapons smugglers, Mr Dunelm?"  
  
"Don't know where you heard that," muttered the barman.  
  
"Does that mean you're denyin' it?" asked Welch, a gleam in his eye.  
  
Dunelm made no answer.  
  
"Write that down if you will, Sergeant Wilson," instructed Welch. He smiled pleasantly, or at least, he showed his teeth. "Now, Hibby," he addressed the barman, "you'll be kind enough to wait here in the genial company of these nice lads while we take a little tour of your charming upstairs rooms."  
  
"But..." Dunelm began to protest.  
  
"There's nothing hidden up there, is there?" asked Welch, raising his eyebrows. "Never mind. If you do think of anything important just tell my lads here, all right?"  
  
"I'm not saying nothing," muttered Dunelm, folding his arms.  
  
"You could at least work on your grammar," commented Greenleaf.  
  
"There, ain't that polite, Hibby?" said Welch. "That's real gentlemanly, that is. He found enough time to help you with your education." He turned to Greenleaf. "Lead the way, master Elf."  
  
Greenleaf did so with a smile. He liked the captain, and approved of his manner. It was direct and straightforward, but at the same time terribly convoluted. You could trust him to do what was right, but while knowing that his methods would be a little unorthodox.  
  
He stopped at the door of the room. It was shut but not locked, and opened easily. Welch entered just behind Greenleaf.  
  
"Ah, that's Feltham," said the captain, pointing at the bald man who still lay unconscious on the floor, "he's an old friend. As are those two lumps of muscle, Little Tom and Little John." He caught Greenleaf's raised eyebrow and continued. "Their friends had a funny sense of humour and no originality. They've usually got another man with them though. Nasty weaselly little fellow."  
  
"Wears a red cap?" asked Greenleaf.  
  
"That's the boy. Fulbrey, he's called. Horrible piece of work, enjoys hurting people rather too much."  
  
"I did get that impression," said Greenleaf, feeling glad for the continued presence of his kneecaps in their accustomed positions.  
  
He walked across the room. The window was wide open, the stringy net curtain beside it blowing erratically. While briefly pondering the point of net curtains on windows to grimy to see through anyway, Greenleaf pulled himself up onto the windowsill. The roof of the next house was directly outside, just short drop down. On the tiles was a clear pair of marks from feet landing on the roof. Handprints were visible on the grimy windowsill he crouched on.  
  
"What is it?" asked Welch, coming up behind him.  
  
"He left this way," explained Greenleaf, "and recently too. Probably when he heard your guards entering. He can't have gone far. I'll go after him."  
  
Welch's hand rose to his shoulder, but Greenleaf didn't protest it. "Are you sure?" the man asked.  
  
"Damn sure," said Greenleaf, "he can only be a few minutes ahead. I'll be fine."  
  
With that he slipped from the windowsill, landing lightly on the roof below. Welch, standing at the window, watched him for a moment then turned his attention back to the room.  
  
Greenleaf examined the roof. The tiles were old and mucky, and footprints were easily seen across them, leading along the edge of the roof. He followed them to the far side, where the next building was only an easy leap away. The roof here was cleaner and newer, but there had been enough dirt on the previous one for it to have stuck to the man's shoes and leave a trail. Greenleaf followed the tracks, despite the fact that they grew fainter as the distance grew greater. Fulbrey obviously hadn't attempted to hide his trail, maybe he was too afraid of being caught to slow down and do so. Or he hadn't thought that anyone would pursue him over the roofs. The guards probably wouldn't have.  
  
It was the nature of this part of Minas Tirith for the houses to be close together. Many people lived in the city, and contrary to what the people at the top liked to think, many were poor. The most practical way of housing all of them was to have lots of small, cheap dwellings. The space available meant building them very close together. There had been experiments in building taller buildings –upwards was just another way to extend, after all- but they had been abandoned as too expensive and too difficult. Even some of the taller buildings that had already existed were known to lean, sometimes over the streets, making some ways and paths notoriously dark. It was said that in some places people could pass items across the street without leaving their houses. All this made it possible for any able-bodied man or Elf to make a path over the rooftops without much of an inconvenience.  
  
I must be gaining on him by now, thought Greenleaf, he can't run faster than I can, surely!  
  
His thought was confirmed when he saw a figure some distance away, heading over the roofs still. Greenleaf put on an extra burst of speed, sprinting towards his target faster. In doing so he failed to notice the trap that had been set. A rope had been tied between two chimneys at ankle height, directly in his path. Greenleaf's foot caught on it and he tripped over.  
  
He was flung forwards abruptly, unable to stop his headlong fall. His ankle twisted. The roof he landed on was sloped and he slid down on his front. He rolled just before the edge and grabbed at the guttering. He fell over the edge, dropping to hang from the gutter by one hand. He swung there for a moment before turning, grabbing the gutter with his other hand as well and pulling himself up again. The man was no longer in sight. Greenleaf scrambled up the incline of the roof to pick up the trail again, while cursing himself for having fallen for such a simple trap. Fulbrey must have been further ahead than he thought to have been able to set it. And now he had just gained even more of a lead.  
  
Limping slightly, Greenleaf ran on, having to search even harder for the trail. Fulbrey as being more careful, that much was obvious. Then suddenly, in the middle of a rooftop, the trail vanished. Greenleaf skidded to a halt. He bent to examine the point at which the footprints vanished and glanced around. There was no way that the man could have jumped off in any direction, and the footprints didn't indicate that type of action. Instead, they were slightly blurred. Greenleaf smiled, noticing this. He wouldn't be caught out by that old trick. Fulbrey had simply walked backwards in his own prints. Greenleaf backtracked to the edge of the roof, where sure enough he could just see where Fulbrey had turned away in another direction along the roof. He followed, being all the more careful to watch the trail, but at the same time trying to pick up speed.  
  
He succeeded. After a little distance he caught up enough to see the fleeing man ahead of him. He was still wary for any traps but in addition to this he tried to stay out of sight, not letting Fulbrey notice how close he was getting. Despite the darkness it was now possible for him to see the colour of the red hat in the moonlight. Greenleaf, aware of how visible he could be under the stars, flipped his hood up without pausing.  
  
Oh for my bow and arrows, he thought wistfully. I could have brought him down with a shot.  
  
He drew closer and closer, gaining on the man with long strides. Fulbrey stumbled a little as he ran, clearly tiring. His endurance was nowhere near as great as the Elf's. Greenleaf gained steadily. Fulbrey was beginning to try and take the easiest route he could, with the shortest leaps and least obstacles. Inevitably, he couldn't keep his lead. He glanced back and saw Greenleaf behind him, expression set and determined. Panic crossed the man's face, to be replaced by anger. Greenleaf knew he would have to be careful. Fulbrey wouldn't be able to outrun the Elf, so he would have to turn and fight. And when he did he would be like a cornered animal, vicious and fighting for his life.  
  
Then they were both on the same roof and Greenleaf was very close behind. Fulbrey took an apparently desperate leap from the roof edge. Greenleaf stopped just before it, peering over. There was nothing between the gutter and the road below, but nothing on the stones underneath. Only barely noticing the bend in the gutter, Greenleaf leapt backwards, blessing his senses as Fulbrey charged him from the side, trying to knock him from the roof. Greenleaf rolled across the tiles, grateful for the fact that the roof had only a slight slope. He was on his feet in moments, ready as Fulbrey ran at him again. The man headbutted Greenleaf in the stomach, sending them both to the tiles. They struggled hard, each wanting to gain the upper hand.  
  
Greenleaf kicked out, but couldn't dislodge Fulbrey, who had wrapped his arms around the Elf. The man appeared to be trying to throw him off the edge, a move which seemed suicidal to Greenleaf. Fulbrey's arms squeezed tightly about him, attempting to squeeze the breath from the Elf.  
  
No finesse, decided Greenleaf, echoing his earlier thoughts.  
  
He brought his hands up then slammed them, palms first, against Fulbrey's ears. The man's grip loosened with a surprised grunt and Greenleaf pulled away getting to his feet. He gave Fulbrey a challenging look as the man also got to his feet.  
  
Bring it on, he thought. He readied his stance.  
  
"I've always wanted to kill and Elf," said Fulbrey. He was a little unsteady on his feet but his voice was fanatical.  
  
"You've been reading too many books," responded Greenleaf, "Elves don't do being killed by little toerags like you." He looked at Fulbrey for a moment then wrinkled his nose in a movement calculated to annoy. "If you can read, that is."  
  
"Damned snooty Elf!" yelled Fulbrey, and charged again.  
  
Greenleaf sidestepped, avoiding most of the force of the man's rush. He wasn't pushed to the floor this time, and the pair grappled for a minute before Fulbrey pulled back, standing crouched a little way from the Elf, glaring at him. There was a delicate tapping sound that filled the silence, a tapping that got heavier and louder. It had begun to rain. Greenleaf's hood had been thrown back sometime during the fight and the raindrops soon soaked his hair. He stared straight back at the man.  
  
"You Elves think you're so great," spat Fulbrey, face twisting in hate, "you should learn that you're not welcome here."  
  
"I got that impression," replied Greenleaf, "from the greeting I received from you and your friends."  
  
Their eyes met squarely and neither would look away. Normally Greenleaf would have been confident of winning any staring competition, but this one he wasn't so sure of. The man was odd. Cruel and mean-spirited definitely, but in this somewhat scrawny figure Greenleaf was sure there was something to fear. Something in the fact that he seemed utterly uncaring for any form of life. He'd probably go off his path just to step on an ant. Unwillingly, Greenleaf found himself remembering the glee in the man's eyes as he anticipated removing the Elf's kneecaps. It had been a horrible, disturbing sight, and the memory of it distracted him for a split second.  
  
But that was enough, and Greenleaf suddenly found himself pinned against the chimney block behind him. He tried to bring his knee up –always a helpful move- but Fulbrey was pressed too tightly against him. Greenleaf hadn't pulled his knife out earlier, preferring the idea of a fair fight. Now though, looking at the man, he wished he had. The rain continued to fall around them, thoroughly drenching everything.  
  
The water gave Greenleaf a flash of an idea. The tiles beneath his feet were becoming increasingly slippery. He shoved forwards, knocking Fulbrey off balance. The man skidded backwards, flailing his arms wildly before gaining his balance again. He snarled, an animalistic sound, and rushed Greenleaf again. This time the Elf was better prepared to meet him head on. They both slipped on the wet roof as they struggled together, wrestling. The inclement weather hindered both equally, also soaking both through. Hands slid as they sought to gain a grip on wet skin. Hair stuck to faces and fell in eyes. Unlike his usual calm and control in adverse situations, Greenleaf was more desperate, as was his opponent.  
  
Everything seemed to slow suddenly as a knife appeared. It didn't gleam, as the moon and stars had long since been obscured by cloud. It just suddenly existed in Fulbrey's hand, its blade dripping wet in seconds with rain.  
  
"Didn't think I was armed, did you, Elf?" hissed Fulbrey.  
  
And then it was dripping wet with blood. Greenleaf just managed to push aside Fulbrey's arm before the dagger was jabbed at his stomach, but was unable to prevent it catching his side. The blood mingled with the rain, falling to the roof. Greenleaf thrust the man away, pushing him as hard as he could manage. The man stumbled backwards then fell as he reached the edge. His face suddenly wore a surprised expression as he realised there was nothing beneath him but a long drop.  
  
Greenleaf watched him vanish, and then heard –or thought he heard over the noise of the rain- the thud of a body hitting stone. He walked to the edge of the roof and saw a dark shape on the cobbles below, obscured by the rain. A quick shin down a drainpipe brought him beside it. Fulbrey lay, clearly dead, on the ground, arms and legs spread-eagled. His eyes were open and blank, staring at nothing. The rain streamed down his face like tears. Greenleaf bent down and closed the man's eyes.  
  
So that was it. Another job done, another body to add to the list. This man probably hadn't any family, or at least none that would care that he was gone. Greenleaf doubted that he had been an upstanding member of the community. He had been a rat; that was all. A rat in human form. And some vermin deserved to be exterminated.  
  
The stupid red cap lay on the cobblestones, a sodden mass. Greenleaf picked it up, wringing it between his hands for a moment before pulling Fulbrey's corpse over his shoulder. He began the walk back to the Thieves' Knot, all the while getting steadily wetter. There was no one else out on the streets, no one to see the pall bearer and his corpse. They were all safe and dry indoors. The little drama played out on the rooftops hadn't affected them at all. All evidence of it would be gone by morning, washed clean by the rain. And the man would still be dead, probably without them knowing a thing.  
  
Captain Welch was sitting inside the inn at one of the tables when Greenleaf entered. Silently, the Elf laid the body on a table, placing the soaked red cap on the top like a wreath. He stared at it for a minute, only now seeing it in the light.  
  
"You got him then," said Welch eventually.  
  
"I did," replied Greenleaf.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Greenleaf gave no response. He didn't want gratitude for this part of the job. It just didn't seem right.  
  
Welch stood and walked over, examining the body. "He was a bad lot, you know," he said, "it's nothing more than he deserved."  
  
Some vermin deserve to be exterminated. "I know," said Greenleaf.  
  
Welch took a long look at him, taking in the sodden clothing and drenched hair. There was nothing like a good soaking to make someone look dejected. "You're wounded," he said suddenly.  
  
"I can deal with it myself."  
  
There were no goodbyes, no farewells. Greenleaf simply walked out of the door, back into the rain. Welch watched him go then returned his gaze to the corpse. The Elf had walked abruptly into his life, and he had just left in a similar fashion. Welch would probably never see him again, but Greenleaf had left his mark. One criminal would never walk the streets again at least. The captain sighed, leaned back in his chair and pulled out a soggy rollup. He put one end in his mouth and lit it.  
  
Greenleaf strode through the rain, his thoughts still on Fulbrey's dead face and those staring eyes. That was how Elves looked when they were asleep, except they still breathed. Any death diminishes, but what does it diminish? The urge to kill, or the urge not to? Is it possible to kill so many times that one can become immune to its effects? Greenleaf hurried on in the downpour.  
  
Some vermin deserve to be exterminated. But what of their exterminator?  
  
The End.  
  
:::::::::::::::::::  
  
Really the end this time, boys and girls. Honest. The story continues, as I'm sure you know, in 'You Only Live Forever'. Sorry about the rather depressing ending; I was listening to the ROTK soundtrack and you know how it is, just gets all morose. 


End file.
